


Lathvhen Drabbles

by RittaPokie



Series: Tales From the Dragon Age [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 06:56:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 7,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13518906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RittaPokie/pseuds/RittaPokie
Summary: my opinion hasn't changed since i posted this the first time: fuck solas' secret





	1. The Fen Child

"Keeper...I must confess something to you." She clutches tightly at the baby she's holding at her chest. "Not as one of the clan, but as your daughter."

"Yes, da'len?" He asks, his voice dropping to the soft tone that only his children receive.

"The baby, I-" she chokes and tears well in her eyes. "I broke our rules, he was conceived under the wolf's eyes."

Her father frowns deeply, "Da'len, this is grave. I am glad you are telling me before naming him."

"I was going to keep it secret, but I couldn't-I can't betray my family like that." She sniffs, and holds the baby tighter, causing him to stir and blink up at her curiously. "He must be marked and sent away."

"As is customary." Her father agrees.  
"What would be the harm of keeping them, father? Why must they be cast off like dirt?" She cries, tears pouring over her cheeks.

"There would be no harm for us, but for the fen children. Some in our clan hold deep grudges against the Dread Wolf and curse his name. Though we may have been fed lies about this deity, I cannot convince them all. The children wouldn't be safe with the clan. They are safer in cities, where no one knows the name Fen'harel." He shakes his head. "He must go, but you needn't be separated. Take him, take Zatlen. The boy in the far North you spoke of when you returned from your pilgrimage. The one who sired your firstborn. Go to him, raise your children there."

"And if he will not have me?" She whimpers.

"Da'len..." He pulls her into a hug and the baby coos between them. "You are stronger than you know, you will find your way."

"When will I name my little one?" She asks.

"Now." He pulls back and scrapes his thumb across his canine to draw blood. "Had you chosen something?"

"No..." She wipes her tears with one hand.

"His eyes, so powerful." He says, looking at the baby closely. "So open and curious, so aware beyond his time. I sense magic in him already. Keep him safe from the Templars, daughter. He will be very strong." He presses his bloodied thumb to the child's forehead. "Never forget those who brought you into this world, guided your first breaths. I call you Feyneral, for the gifts I do not doubt you will carry, your second sight and awareness."

"Father, you cannot be sure he is to be a seer so soon!"

"I can, and I am." He says. "My grandson, how I wish I could've known you."

"I will miss you."

"I will miss you, too. Go now, prepare for your journey."


	2. Under the Eyes of the Wolf

"I was only three when we left the clan. Mother never told us much about it-told me even less. It's not that she loved Fey more, he was just...special. And he was, I understood that. A Mage living in a human city wasn't safe, she had to coddle him more than me. I was an easy child, never made much a fuss. I'm not much for drama and turmoil. Fey, though, it seemed to follow wherever he went." Zat pauses to sip his ale. Many of the young elves at Skyhold had gathered around his fire pit to listen to the elder tell stories. "Mother believed there was something about him. What was it she said? Ah, under the eyes of the wolf."

Arctos chokes and splutters the brandy he'd sipped. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that last part?"

"Under the eyes of the wolf?" Zat asks.

"The dread wolf?"

"Possibly, I don't remember." Zat shakes his head.


	3. Questions

"What do you know of Fen'harel?" Arctos asks, threading his hair into sections to plait it.

Solas freezes for a moment, letting the page of a book he'd been leafing through fall from his fingers. "As much as I know of other things, perhaps." he says, "Most clans teach that Fen'harel is an antagonist, but we've already come to the conclusion that your clan isn't like most."

"This is true." the brunet nods. "Some in the clan certainly believe Fen'harel is a demonic figure, though they have come from other clans, or are descended from those who have. The Dread Wolf has a shaman like the other gods in our pantheon. He never presented Fen'harel in a negative or positive way. Just that...he was."

"Oh?" Solas turns his full attention to the other elf. "And what does this shaman say."

"What was it? It's been some time since I heard the teachings." He wracks his brain for a moment then clucks his tongue. "Ah yes." he says. "That just as Mythal protects and Andruil hunts, the Fen'harel rips the world to shreds. That not all duties are kind, but they all serve their purpose."

"And this is what all the elves in your clan are taught?"

"Yes." Arctos nods. "I do not know what our purpose is when the Dread Wolf returns. Are we meant to rise against him or with him? Or are we meant to do nothing?"

"Most clans would say rise against."

"True, but if Elgar'nan again sought revenge, if he pulled the sun from the sky, would we not fight him as well? Did we not before? Is that why we remember so little of that time?" Arctos hums, abandoning his braiding for the intriguing conversation. "Is that what made Mythal a god? Did she stand against him? Or was it that she stood with him against his father?"

"I do not know."

"Ghilan'nain wasn't a god before she summoned a curse from Andruil, and yet we worship her all the same. Were none of them ever gods? Were they only other elves?"

"You have many questions that I have no answers for." Solas chuckles. "Though you have more insight than many others I have met, simply for asking them."

"If you do not question, you follow blindly."


	4. Blasphemer

"They're going to swallow us whole." Theras complains. "This clan has survived centuries and I have led you all into despair."

Ashiris chuckles. "You haven't." they insist, "Think of all the things we've seen. Think of the Blights, when our numbers dwindled to under thirty and we had barely enough hunters to carry us through Winter."

"We were only children at the time." Theras says. "Such a terrible thing to experience."

"Amallen was certain we would perish, but then one of our generation suggested to bring in elves from cities on our pilgrimages. And we grew once again."

"Fahellzen should've been Keeper, not me. She was the First, after all." Theras shakes his head. "She had so much potential."

"She had talents better suited for the calling of Mythal." Ashiris says. "You have been a wonderful Keeper, Theras."

"I honestly don't know what I'm doing anymore..."

"Such is the plight of being so close to our roots, of living such long lives." they say. "Why do you think I have taken an apprentice? Our time nears. I know you can feel it. Either we will die or we must sleep as our anscestors did."

"It....frightens me, vhenan."

"Do you not be afraid." Ashiris says, "Immortality corrupts."

"Our anscestors were immortal."

"And they slept." they warn. "They slept to separate themselves from our Creators. Our Creators did not sleep, and I would not trust a single one of them, should we meet."

"Ashiris, you blaspheme."

"Have you ever known me to do anything other than this?" they laugh. "We honor them for their past deeds. They have no present deeds. Our Creators abandoned us long ago."

"How can you say this?"

"Because it is true. The Fade fills with spirits, more and more each year. Our cleanse no longer serves a valid purpose, because these are not lost spirits, it's just where they're all going. No one is leading them to the final resting place."

"And what would fix this, do you think?"

"I...I don't know." Ashiris shrugs. "Perhaps it nears the time for Fen'harel to return. The bones of the Fade have...mended misshapen. It's wrong, and I know you have felt it as well. Perhaps the Dread Wolf's purpose is to break it all so we can set it right."

"Do not let the others hear you speak this, vhenan."

"Of course not. Only Velanril need know, and she can keep quiet on such matters. Her mind is open, as I suspected when I chose her. It's just what we need in our leaders for the trying time we're facing."


	5. Photographic Memory

The petite raven-haired elf rocks on her feet as she examines Solas' vibrant paintings in Skyhold. She's sure she's seen at least one of these before. They just look so familiar. But where? "Can I help you with something, da'len?" Solas asks, and she jumps.

"I was just admiring..." She lies. "You can stop calling me da'len, I'm no longer a child. I earned my vallaslin like all the others."

He makes a sour face. "You are still quite young."

"These paintings." She says, changing the subject. "They strike at something in my memory that I cannot place."

He chuckles a bit at that. "Isn't that what art is supposed to do? Make you feel?"

"I suppose you're right."

\---

"There's something about them, lethallan." Velanril mumbles. "I can't figure it out."

"Are you still on those paintings?" Arctos laughs. "What is it about Solas that puts you in knots? Have you got a crush?"

"No, not at all." She says, frowning. "He is odd."

"This is true, but not new information." he says.

She swings her feet where they're hanging off the side of her cot. "The paintings-"

"Sketch them and send them to the Shaman." Arctos says. "Perhaps they have wisdom that you do not."

\---

"Velanril, a package for you. Leliana says it is from Tallis." Arctos says. "It's definitely his writing. With the symbols for urgency."

"The Dread Wolf's Shaman?" her face scrunches with confusion and she takes the heavy envelope from the other's hands and opens it, pulling out her own sketches along with several new papers and an old book with faded leather binding. "Fen'harel enansal." She reads the cover of the book.

"Let me see those pages, while you look at the book." the taller elf says, gently tugging them from her grasp and sifting through them. A mass amount of sketches and scattered notes, some in Tallis' handwriting and some faded and with words lost to their clan. "Something about...purpose and- is this- I can't read this, 'Ril." he shakes his head.

She takes the pages and scans them, her more advanced training as Ashiris' apprentices letting her understand a bit more than the other. "Inevitable victory-no, th-yes, victory and- freedom in...something. Veils. I think this is mentioning Skyhold."

"So much is lost to us."

"I can't read this either. Tallis knows this-oh." She pulls a sketch free of the stack and stares. "Look at this." She turns it to Arctos.

"You've an eye for things, lethallin." he says, voice low and quiet. "This..."

"This is in the paintings."

"It's...from Tallis' keep. Why is this... What does this mean?" Arctos asks.

"The girl, the Lavellan that follows Solas like a lost dog." She says. "Is she not the daughter of Feyneral? The great-grand-daughter of our keeper?"

Arctos is silent for a moment. "Her uncle speaks of Athela, Theras' daughter, yes..."

"Wasn't her youngest a fen child?" Velanril whispers. "Is-is...Is Solas..."

"Do not speak, lethallin." Arctos puts a hand over her mouth. "Lest he hear."

"We must inform our clan!" she hisses through his fingers. "Halam'nadas is upon us! They sky is open, Fen'harel has returned!"

"Hush!" Arctos exclaims. "We- we must return home."

"You think?!"


	6. Speculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my opinion hasn't changed since i posted this the first time: fuck solas' secret

"Tell me, why does my apprentice write to you and not to me." Ashiris pouts, nudging some books in the other Shaman's aravel.

"She wants information about something." Tallis blows his long, whispy brown hair out of his face. "She sent these sketches." he points vaguely at a pile of parchment on a small table.

Ashiris looks the drawings over carefully. "Now where would she have seen these?"

"I have no idea." he sighs. "She gave little information on her location, the inquisition's location."

"She wrote to Theras." Ashiris huffs. "I'll have a stern talk with him."

"Aren't you at all concerned that your apprentice is sending me drawings from relics related to the Dread Wolf that even I barely remember?" he asks.

"Not at all."

"Really?" he asks, surprised. "Most would be."

"I have lived far too long to concern myself with what Fen'harel is up to." Ashiris waves their hand dismissively. "Let him come, I've my staff ready."

"Your magic would not match his-"

"Magic?" Ashiris laughs. "No, no magic. The staff is essentially a stick. He needs a good whack."

"Blasphemer." Tallis shakes his head, chuckling. "Ashiris, do you care at all?"

"No."

\---

"I would've like to keep him for a while longer, to make sure he didn't get sicker." Saharni is complaining to Theras when Ashiris approaches. "He was my patient, after all. I'm responsible."

"He will be fine."

"Velanril does have some training in healing, lethallin." Ashiris assures her. "She tends to leave scars, though."

"I suppose it's too late to contest the decision." Saharni sighs.

"Arctos wouldn't have gone otherwise." Theras says. "And I wouldn't dare send a mage alone. Not to an inquisition, especially."

"Did you not hear, vhenan? The inquisitor has set the mages free." Ashiris says. "The templars are disbanded, the circles rended."

"And yet, the mages are under the charge of the inquisition. It's the same as before." Theras argues. "I will not believe we are safe until we Dalish apostates can walk the streets without hiding our staves."

"I care particularly about one specific elf you sent away with an infection still in his lungs." Saharni continues. "With a child and an elf who jumps into frozen lakes at the slightest provocation."

"It's not the most responsible of groups." Ashiris agrees. "But an adventurous one. Clearly, considering Velanril is requesting information on Fen'harel."

"What?" Saharni says. "Frozen lakes and now the Dread Wolf."

Ashiris hums. "Care to explain why you kept this from me, Theras?"

"I-I didn't- Ash, I-" He stammers. "I meant to tell you-"

"When?"

"Goodbye, I'll not listen to your bickering like an old bond." Saharni sighs, walking away and leaving Ashiris with their arms crossed and Theras fumbling for words.

"I won't stand for being lied to, emma lath." Ashiris says, the loving term contrasting their tone drastically.

"Ashiris, I'd never-" he sighs, "I just... I didn't want to worry you."

"I would not have been, had you told me." Ashiris sniffs. "I noticed that Tallis has no letter along with the sketches. Velanril would never send such things with no explanation. So, you must have it. What did she write?"

"I- She's...concerned. About a member of the inqusition." Theras says.

"And so she sends for Tallis?" they ask, still stern.

"Not exactly." Theras says. Ashiris raises their brows when he doesn't elaborate. "She sent the sketches, saying that she had seen some paintings that struck her memory, but she wasn't sure. She wanted to know if the Shaman had any knowledge she did not. I...recognized them..."

"And what are they from?"

"A very, very old book. A book of pure speculation, actually." he tries to brush off the seriousness. "That Fen'harel could be some sort of-of artist. And copies of things-drawings of events past, present, and future."

"And she has sketches of paintings she saw that match these very old, speculative drawings that were maybe the work of the Dread Wolf." Ashiris says. "Mythal's mercy. Is the inquisition led by a wolf?"

"...Ash..." he mumbles.

"What is it?" Ashiris' voice drops with Theras', losing the venom in favor of concern.

"Those others she wrote of before...the-the wolf pack, as she called them." he says. "Among them are Athela's grandchildren... None of them have reason to be there, and yet they are."

"Theras." their voice turns serious again. "We must bring our children home. They have stumbled into something far greater than they can understand."


	7. As Our Ancestors Before Us

"I've not much on the First Blight, keeper." Tallis says. "Most of the lore was lost, and never ours at all. Had the elves assissted, then perhaps..." He shakes his head. "It is far too late to apologize for our inaction."

"It is no longer our cause."

"But it was theirs." the blond argues. "It was the whole world's cause. All of Thedas should've rallied, but the Dalish turned away. Even when by all accounts, one of our own could've caused it."

"That you consider Fen'Harel one of us never ceases to amaze me." Teras shakes his head.

"He was not one of the Creators, not fully. Nor was he one of the Forgotten Ones." Tallis insists. "It could be that they gave him to us to be a savior and we shunned him, as we have done all the other races. Disgraceful, really."

"Our ancestors made many mistakes."

"And we will make the same mistakes if we ignore the ones they made." Tallis says. "Is this not my purpose? To warn against what could become of us if we slip into such foolishness?"

"It is your purpose, Shaman." Theras concedes. "Tell me of the Blights."

\---

"Keeper..." Tallis says as Theras turns to leave. He gently unrolls a very worn piece of light leather in his hands, gazing over the inking on it. The writing is ancient elven, most of which neither of them can understand. "To break the sky open, to cause this Breach that Shaelva spoke of..."

"What is it, Shaman?"

"Whoever did it would've needed this." He beckons the keeper to look over the drawings. "This belongs to Fen'Harel." Theras hums in acknowledgement, but doesn't speak, so Tallis continues. "The end may truly be upon us."

"I know this."

"Keeper, will we fight him?" He asks. "Will we fight him, will we join him, or will we simply look on as our ancestors did?"

"I....I don't know."

"Your grandson would make the Dread Wolf a powerful ally." Tallis shakes his head, clearing his thoughts of the more serious implications of faith and morals ahead of them, focusing on the logistics, the possible strategies. "He was powerful, we all sensed it. It was likely that he was already dreaming, even as an infant. He was not only a mage but a conduit of magic. If it didn't drive him mad, if he reached Fen'Harel soon enough to be stablized."

"It pains me to think of such things." Theras says. "I worry that he has suffered without someone to help him along. It may have been kinder to kill him."

Tallis snorts. "Athela would never have allowed that. She may have let you send her away, but there is no doubt in my mind that she would do whatever she needed to protect her sons. I know I was still a child when she left, but... How could one forget such fire?"


	8. The Wolf

Tallis gazes at the intricate paintings on the wall and breathes deeply, a small smile on his face. So many years of telling others that no, those were not just drawings of events relevant to Fen'Harel, but that the Wolf himself created them. Or at least created what they were copied from. Velanril has one of his set of copies, and his others are in the room provided to him by the Inquisition. He had not brought them, instead hoping to speak with this "Solas", but learned that he was away with the Inquisitor currently. The Wolf was expected to return shortly, and the brunet is content to wait and admire.

For all the odd looks Dalish elves get for their vallaslin, Tallis gets twice as many. He is obviously Dalish, judging by his clothing, the carvings on his staff, and the way he speaks, but his face is clear and unmarked. The brunet unrolls the thin leather page in his hands and remarks the ink on it again. That it has survived so long is a good reason to believe it is enchanted, but he made and tends to his own, just in case. He lets magic flow from his fingers, seeing the ink darken slightly, seeming fresher. He knows that it is likely not ink at all, but blood and perhaps a sort of dye, given how old it is.

"There are many Dalish here, and more come." A voice says, making Tallis' grin widen. There is no mistaking the accent of elves, especially those free from Shem influence.

He turns and is satisfied when he is struck with no strong emotion to gaze upon the elf before him. He had always wondered if he would feel something, be it terror or reverence, but he does not. The Dread Wolf is and always was just an elf. Tallis has never felt more sure of that fact than he does now. "Andaran atish'an." He greets, inclining his head. "I was hoping to speak to you."

"Is there something I can help with?" Solas asks. His brows twitch as he sweeps his eyes over the brunet, judging his character, and his eyes narrow when he finds no vallaslin.

Tallis grips the page a bit tighter in his hands. "Oh, I believe there are a great many things you can help with." He says. "Walk with me. This must be a private conversation."

\---

They walk down the path from Skyhold, across the snow, both of them with bare feet heated by their magic. Solas follows quietly, but Tallis can feel eyes boring into the back of his skull. Of course the Wolf wouldn't trust him, wouldn't trust anyone. Most believe him to be a villain. Tallis knows he would avoid others if the same was true of himself.

"I suppose this is as alone as we are going to be." He sighs, pulling himself up onto a low rocky outcropping and sitting, letting his legs fall off the edge. He pats the empty space beside him. "I have something to show you."

"Alright..." Solas says, and pulls himself up next to the other. "Something to do with that scroll you are cradling?"

"That is part of it, yes." He suddenly feels fidgety. Solas could very well kill him to keep his secret, even though Tallis would never reveal it. "You are wondering why I have no vallaslin?"

"It crossed my mind."

"In my clan, Lathvhen, there are Shaman for each god, including Fen'Harel." He says, and Solas nods. Tallis assumes either Arctos or Velanril explained this to him. "There were no marks to give me."

Solas turns his gaze outward. "Ah, I see."

"They were binds, weren't they?" Tallis asks, and suddenly the eyes are back on him and deadly narrow.

"Why do you assume I know how to answer this?"

"I know who you are." He unrolls the scroll. "And I know what opened the Breach."

Solas' eyes scan the drawing of the Orb and he reaches for it, Tallis draws it back instinctively. "Where did you get this?"

"It has been with my clan for centuries, since we fled the Dales." Tallis says. He rolls it back neatly. "You think me an enemy."

"What else would you be?"

"An observer." Tallis answers. "Depending on how the future unfolds, perhaps even a follower." He narrows his eyes. This is still a tentative stance.

"Why?" Solas demands, defense not dropping.

"I keep much more knowledge than just this page. I have drawings that are similar to your paintings. I have ancient texts that I barely understand." He says. "You have a purpose to serve, as we all do. Not all duties are kind."

Solas relaxes slightly, still defensive but not bordering on offensive. "How were you chosen for such a path? What did you do to anger them so?"

"The Shaman are chosen according to their skills, interests, and behavior." Tallis says. "Except for one. I chose this path. There is no other way to become this."

"Interesting."

"Lathvhen does not even remember why this is, but I have a theory." Solas nods, urging him to continue. "Vallaslin mark them to the gods, bind them. Is it really different from slave branding in Tevinter?"

A smirk twitches on Solas' lips. "It was not."

"Would you not mark yours?"

"Never." Solas says with conviction, his expression turning sour.

"We should return, before the scouts search for us." Tallis says. He wants to tell the other of Lathvhen's curse, but...not yet. Despite his age, the Wolf is still very clearly impulsive. He decides he will keep it to himself until he knows more.


	9. I Found Something

Halen sits on a perch in the trees with the other hunters in other trees on the plains, some out of earshot. They wait for the signal from the older hunters that will call them to strike the trapped animals. Smoke hangs heavy in the air all around them, stifling their breaths, but they surppress coughs so they don't spook the herds.

  
Squinting through the patchy leaves that hide them, he spots a bear cub wailing in the distance, running along the edge of the unburned area. "Look." he whispers to Shaelva.

  
"Must have been preparing for hibernation in the burning grounds." she notes, watching the little creature. "The mother is probably dead."

  
The cries make him flinch and he shifts on the branch. "It will die without her."

  
"Halen, you-" she grabs his arm as he hangs his legs off the branch. "You will startle the herd." she scolds. "This is our first hunt, do _not_ ruin it."

  
He wriggles stubbornly from her grasp and drops into the shade as the cub runs into the burning grass after its mother. He glances back at the other hunters, grinning at their wild and confused eyes, and sprints after the cub, into the blaze.

  
It takes him a few minutes of choking on the thick smoke before he spots it, backed into the corner of a clearing that isn't on fire. He doesn't know what he's going to do when he catches it, but he can't let it die without regretting the decision.

  
"I will not hurt you." he says softly, resisting the urge to cough. "But you cannot stay in the fire." he reaches for it and it snaps, immature but still very sharp teeth sinking into his hand. He draws it back but tries again when he sees no serious damage, grabbing the cub by the scruff on its neck with both hands before it can bite again. He pulls it out of the brush, surprised by the strength such a little creature could have. Granted, it isn't really small, just small for a bear, still very much in need of its mother.

  
After struggling for a few moments, it resigns itself to wailing for help from its mother, who won't come. "Now, what am I going to do with you..." he mumbles, carrying it carefully back through the burning grasses, which are much more on fire than when he went through. When he gets back to the trees, the hunters are gone, having followed the signal like they were supposed to.

  
"Back to camp with us, then." he sighs, looking down at the cub.

 

The looks that he gets from those who were not participating in the Hunt is irreplaceable and he beams at their shocked faces, approaching the Shaman of Andruil. The old woman sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. "Halen..."

  
He grins wider. "I found something." he says.

  
"I see that."

  
"The mother is likely dead in the flames. I could not let it die too." he says, tone and expression more serious.

  
"If the mother is dead then the cub will follow." she says. "It cannot care for itself."

  
"Then _I_ will care for it."


	10. Durgen

"What is he doing?" the Shaman of Andruil asks, a heavy sigh leaving her lips as she sees Halen, or 'Arctos' as many in the clan began calling him after he brought a bear cub home during the hunt. He is holding said bear in his arms and struggling under the weight it has gained, looking as though he fully intends to treat it as a bloodling.

  
"I think he intends to name his child." Ashiris chuckles. "He could just lead it over."

  
"Halen..." Theras sighs.

  
"What? Is he not my child? I raised him!" Halen says when he reaches them. "I was nearly three and I was still dipped and named."

  
"He has a point." Ashiris says. "At least the bear was born in the right frame of time for this to be done. Go on, then."

  
"You cannot be serious." the Shaman of Andruil looks shocked and annoyed. "It is a bear."

  
"I-..." Theras stammers. "I do not know how to...respond to this."

  
"There are no rules against it." Ashiris says. "I do not think our ancestors anticipated such things when they made the rules, but...the fact remains."

  
Halen grins widely and shifts to touch the bear's hind paws into the blood. "I call you Durgen, for you are strong as stone and remain unflinching at my side." he says. The bear looks up curiously at him, quite accustomed to being carried at this point in his life. Durgen makes a rumbling huffing noise when Halen sets him down away from the blood. "You are one of us now." Halen answers, kissing the bear's head.


	11. Last One There's The Dread Wolf

"Come on Oralya!" The young brunet elf shouts as he runs ahead with Shaelva tagging closely behind. The third, born later in the year group, lags behind. "Last one there is Fen'Harel!"

 

They all collapse in a heap under the shade of a tree centuries older than them, panting and watching sunlight flicker through the leaves to warm them. The air in the forest is thick and humid, not helping them catch their breath at all. 

"Don't-don't say things like that." Oralya huffs after a moment. "I'm not the Dread Wolf."

"Don't be so superstitious." He smirks, standing to wander the area they stopped in. It is farther than they have gone away from the clan before-not that they are supposed to be on their own at all. He follows the sound of roaring water to a cliff overlooking a river plunging down a drop that is at least 100 meters. He inches to the edge to look but steps back when his feet slip a bit. The earth around the cliff is soft from the spray of the water.

"Wow." Shaelva says, peering over his shoulder. "It's like flying, being up here."

He nods and looks across to the other side. It isn't that far. Too far too jump, but...he spots a vine hanging from a low branch on the tree they are under. He eases forward to the edge of the cliff again. If he's careful, it's just within reach. Shaelva grabs his hand when his bare feet slide in the mud but he snatches the vine as she pulls him back.

"Halen!" She shouts, blonde hair sticky from mud. She fell trying to pull him. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"No." He tugs the vine firmly, testing how well it is attached to the branch. "I can get across this." He says surely.

"Maybe you can, but you shouldn't." Oralya pipes up.

He scoffs and dries his hands on his tunic so he can grip the vine better. "Why not?" He tugs it back until he thinks he has enough distance for a running start.

"It's dangerous!"

"Danger is my name!" He shouts, sprinting forward and leaping off the cliff with the vine in hand. Oralya shrieks in fear when he lets go and lands, tumbling, on the other side. Shaelva catches the vine when it swings back. "Told you!"

"Ora, you go next, or you'll never do it." Shaelva says, handing the vine to the smaller elf. The younger shakes her head frantically. "Oh come on, live a little."

"O-okay..." She stammers. Her hands shake when she grabs the vine and pulls it to the distance Halen did. She breathes deeply and runs forward.

Before she can let go to leap, the vine snaps above her head, and she barely has time to scramble for purchase on the other side, hanging off the edge of the cliff. 

The other two panic for a moment before Halen grabs the younger elf's arms. "I have you." He says.

"Don't let go!" She wails, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Shae! Go get help!" He shouts across the falls. The blond runs in the direction of their camp, wide-eyed. His grip is slipping in the mud, and Oralya jolts as he nearly loses hold on her.

"You're dropping me!" She screams, terrified. "Halen, pull me up!"

"I can't." He whimpers. When he tries, his hands just slip further from her forearms to her wrists.

"I'm gonna fall!"

"No you're not!" His nails draw blood across her hands as she slips the last few inches from his grasp.

 

The elves Shaelva bring back find him sitting, unblinking on the other side, hands still half reaching over the cliff.


	12. Do As I Say, Not As I Have Done

Zatlen kneels down next to the low bed the Keeper lays on, his head turned down in respect for the man, as he has seen others do. It does not matter that he is Theras' grandson, he should not be exempt from ceremony. "Keeper." He says in greeting.

"Da'len, how I have hoped to see you and your brother again." Theras says, his voice weak but his eyes bright. The corruption shows on his face, ink snaking through his veins.

"It was you who cast us out." Zatlen reminds him.

"I did what I thought I must..." He takes Zatlen's hand and squeezes gently. His eyes flutter shut for a moment and he sighs in pain before opening them again. "Promise me, da'len, you will not lead them as I have. I have been wrong in so many ways."

"Don't worry, I intend to do things differently." Zatlen says, and Theras chuckles. "There is no reason the Fen should be cast out if there are records of them all. They cannot be Keepers because of the curse, it does not mean they are no longer family."

"You will be a change for the clan." Theras says. "Good."

"Thank you, Keeper."

"And our kin clan, Shraiee. I am not wrong about their intentions, but I have handled the situation poorly." Theras admits. "Do not fight the alliance the clans could have. Do not fight them, please..."

"It would be foolish if I tried." Zatlen says. "They outnumber us. An alliance would be a far better decision."

Theras' face relaxes and he smiles. "Fate has chosen well this time." He says. "I am at peace to leave Lathvhen in your hands. You are more than capable, whatever your personal beliefs."


	13. Zen

"Our purpose, as Shaman of Fen'Harel, is primarily to remind people of the danger of conception on Halam'Nadas." Ethirel says, her blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "We must protect the clan from the curse."

"Curse?" I ask, my brow furrowing. This is the first I have heard of it referred to as a curse in such a casual sense...as if it is a curse upon _us_ and not the clan.

"Yes. Fen children are conceived on Halam'Nadas. They are cursed to serve the Dread Wolf." She explains. "It has been so long, we do not remember when this curse was placed upon us. We believe it was cast before the elves left the Dales."

She is right, though it was not long before. Not that I can say so. "Is it so wrong to serve Fen'Harel? Is that not what you do?"

"No." She says, her face turning sour. "I do not _serve_."

"I...do not understand."

"I chose this path. I walk it of my own will. The fen children are forced." She says. "They have no choice. They are slaves. _That_ is what is wrong."

"I...I need some air. Thank you, Shaman." I say. My heart is racing in my chest. Cursed? Slaves? We always felt we had a choice, but...this makes sense. Every Fen child followed blindly. We did not stop to question. We gave our lives so easily, and we were slaughtered. As if we were doomed to fail from the beginning. Perhaps we were.


	14. Samahl's Misery

"Your family does not appreciate power. You are kept away from the depth of your ability." the demon hisses. "The things we could do, the greatness we could achieve. The things I could _show you_."

  
"What, like you showed me how to tether spirits into your domain?" Elas scoffs. "You remember how I used this new-found power."

  
It shifts, a low growl pitching from its throat. It knows. This young, snide little elf, this spoiled brat has trapped it here, in his own place in the fade. "There are other things you do not know."

  
"And there are many that you do not know as well." Elas says. "Spirits seek the experiences of the living, and whatever demons seek is similar. Corrupt, but similar. For every one thing that I have to learn, there are ten that you do."

  
"I could easily learn them, it would take you centuries to master the magic I possess."

  
"You forget who has who ensnared." Elas spits. "I am not yours to toy with, but the opposite. _You_ belong to _me_ , Samahl."

  
The demon snarls at the name its been given. Names are powerful things that lull the living into complacency, that fool them into thinking they can trust. Names do not belong to demons. " _Do not call me that_."

  
"It means laughter in Elvish, _Samahl_." it flinches at the name. How can this elf, barely out of childhood, harness such power? "And since you are so incredibly cheery, I think it fits perfect."

  
"I am too powerful to be named."

  
"Clearly not, _Samahl_." he grins at the demon's sour expression. "If you were, then it would not work. Is that not what you said when I first gave it to you? That it would not work?"

  
"It _should not_ have worked. You were lucky, _elf_."

  
"Elf is not my name, Samahl." he trails a finger along the demon's horns. For such awful creatures, they are really rather lovely. "You need to try harder if you want to be free."


	15. What Can You Feel?

"Do demons feel emotions?" Elas asks his mentor, bored again with his studies. He has been selected to study Elgar'nan, but he could not be less interested in it, currently.

  
"They certainly feel anger and the emotions dictated by their nature." the old woman answers, her face creasing with thought. "Beyond that, I do not know. Interactions with them are few and far between."

  
"So, no one has bothered to study this." he sighs. "It is odd that we consider them horrible and yet we know so little about them. It stinks to me of Eastern Dalish who fear humans they only know tales of."

  
"Tales told with good reason." she says sternly. "Humans can be benign, but they can also be very dangerous. Demons are never benign, they always have malicious intent."

  
"But how do you _know_ if you never ask, if you never study?"

  
"Drop this topic immediately, da'len. You should be focusing on your studies." she scolds, and he sighs again, heavier. "What would your father think?"

  
"Nothing." Elas grumbles under his breath. "Because he's dead."

\---

The young elf is glad to be free of his studies for the day, as always, and slips into a well-sheltered cave, much smaller than the one that the clan is using, and perhaps one that they have never discovered. He tosses his pack carelessly onto the floor of a more open space when he arrives, rolling his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck. He squeezes through the small passageway so often that he is beginning to feel the strain from it. He will need to find a larger hiding place soon, such as a snake shedding its skin. When something no longer fits, you rid yourself of it and replace it with something new, something better.  
  


  
He pulls a soft fur cloak from his pack and spreads it on the dusty floor of the cavern and curls up on it, yawning. The fade holds more wonders than his own world, and he is much more powerful there anyway.  
The demon awaits him in his domain, scowling and cursing him as he enters. "You could at least trap something else here for me to play with." it sniffs when he approaches. Its back is to him, but he can tell it has its arms crossed. Indignant, like a bratty child.

  
"You are upset that I leave you alone?" he asks, considering the question he posed to his mentor.

  
"I am _bored_." it huffs, finally facing him. "I cannot control this space, I cannot entertain myself in any way."

  
"Do demons feel emotions?" he asks bluntly, completely ignoring the demon's complaining.

  
"Why would I tell you if we did?" it asks, voice low and threatening. "Why would I give you more power?"

  
"So, is that a yes?" Elas asks, and the demon does not answer. He grins. " _It is_. What do you feel, Samahl?"

  
" _Annoyed_. _Angry_...no _furious_." it snarls. "I would kill you if I had the chance. I no longer want your form, I only wish you _gone_ from this plane forever. I wish myself _free of this misery_."

  
"If you killed me, you would be trapped here forever, with no hope of escaping." Elas says, unconcerned with the threats.

  
" _I know_." it growls. "This is the worst thing that could possibly have happened. When I taught you how to trap spirits, I intended for you to trap spirits that we could torment, not for you to torment _me_."

  
"You do nothing but complain." Elas scoffs. He moves to stand before the demon. Even in the form he has given it, making it more seemingly elven in appearance-which it complains about-rather than the giant monsters that pride demons usually appear as, it is taller than him. "But I suppose that pride goes along with being spoiled and vain, thinking you always deserve more but not realizing that no amount of _more_ will ever satisfy you."

  
"I would be satisfied just to be free of you."

  
"No, for even tethered, you feed from my power and my pride. You are more powerful simply because my presence." he says. "You just cannot use the power I give you."

  
"It is _infuriating_."

  
"What can demons feel, Samahl? What can _you_ feel?" he asks, and it growls again, low and annoyed. Elas raises up onto the balls of his feet and presses his lips against the demon's.

  
"What are you doing?" it mumbles, sounding slightly concerned, against his mouth.

  
He pulls back only slightly. "Your nature never afforded you this experience. Consider it a gift, Samahl."

  
It stills, eyes searching his, but reaches for him as he slips into wakefulness.

 

He awakens, grinning and pleased with himself. This is unexplored territory. It is new. And it is something that no one can keep him from.


	16. Samahl Cares

Despair's tendrils sink into the fade all around, spilling shadows in their wake, and chills run through Elas' bones to see it all. He can see them all, the faces of all in his clan. Though he feels no love for them, he does not want them to die. And died they have, here. Broken and bloodied. Corpses upon corpses and red everywhere in the snow.

His breaths billow out in hazy clouds, shaking as he gasps and sobs. He falls to his knees, brittle bones crackling and shattering underneath him, and wails.

He should be able to resist this demon. He has resisted its kind before, but this one... Far reaching as he can tell it is, it is extremely powerful and he is completely in its grasp.

Stubborn, he puts his hands to his ears to block out the high pitched whistle of wind howling around him. It's so loud, so so loud. He wants to wake up. He usually treasures the hours he sleeps but not now, not like this.

Tears are freezing on his face when he feels crackling electricity around himself. Another, to torment him? Why? Why now?

But the arms that wrap around him are gentle despite the short talons on the fingers clutching his cloak. "You would let yourself be bested by something so pathetic?" it scoffs.

"Samahl..." he sobs. "I can't-"

"Remember yourself. This is not real. It is no more powerful than you let it be." it says. "You are better than this, you are more. And you know it. I would not be here if you were not."

Elas continues his pitiful whimpering so pride sinks its claws into his arm and drags. The pain sears and stings and he wakes up screaming.

But. He is awake.

And the demon helped.

It _cares_.

Samahl...cares.


End file.
